


Time Will Feed Upon Your Weaknesses

by alikuu



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Alternative Universe - Sauron gets the Three Rings, Annatar being creepy as usual, Complete, Dark, Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Mentions of War, Mind Control, Poor Celebrimbor, This ends very badly for him, Violence, dark!Celebrimbor, fantasy blasphemy, somewhat slashy if you think sauron's manipulation tactics are sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Annatar tells Celebrimbor his version of the truth.Warnings: Fantasy blasphemy. Tolkien's creationist myth gets a bashing. Also, this fic contains violence and abuse, coercion, forced immobility, and arguably an even worse time for Celebrimbor than cannon, even if he ends up alive and has no close encounters with banners of any sort.





	1. Time Will Feed Upon Your Weaknesses

Despite being a Maia, with the right amount of alcoholic beverages, even Annatar would flush and relax, his manner easier, less-inhibited. It was so on that merry night when the two Masters of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain drunk together up in the tower of Celebrimbor’s house. The Elven Lord had drunk more than enough to get into the mood of pondering his friend's existence, and upon reviewing what he already knew of his enigmatic guest, he decided to ask the old question once more:

“So, Annatar, why did you leave Aman to join us here?” Celebrimbor's tone was as light as his spirit felt, eyes cringing with good humour and just a little challenge.

“Why, Tyelpe, have I not told you time and time again?” Annatar’s frown lacked indulgence, surprising the Elven Lord. Other times Annatar was all inscrutable gazes and sedative smiles when Celebrimbor brought up questions of his past. Perhaps even Annatar had his limits, or the fine Southern wine was eroding his façades, leaving only the sincerity of irritation underneath. 

“Indeed you have.” Celebrimbor grinned despite the warning in his friend’s eyes, too intoxicated to know when to stop. “You preach your love for Middle Earth and your wish to help us improve it. Match, even surpass Valinor, you always say.”

Celebrimbor took another swig of his goblet and then placed it unsteadily on the small table between them. He clasped his hands together, leaning forward in his seat with a teasing smile for the Maia across from him.

“I have been observing you, and I know that the body you wear is little more than a shell you assume by your own volition.” Celebrimbor disclosed. “So, tell me, Annatar, what use does a creature such as yourself have in aiding Middle Earth? How are any of its resources relevant to you? You can live without our air, without the fertile soil and the clean water. What use is our science and skill to you, when you can pursue knowledge beyond the restraints of physical existence?”

“Tyelperinquar, whatever observations you may have made of me, they are inherently flawed, since you cannot see the full picture.” Annatar said with a smug smirk on his fine features. “Although I am flattered to have captured your attention enough to become the subject of your musings, I think you are drunk and unaware of your own babbling.”

“Truly though, why are you here?” Celebrimbor insisted, forcing an expression of seriousness and concentration on his face. “You just confirmed my speculation that there is more to you then what you exhibit in the material plane. What drives you to our manner of esse, why do you choose to take our form? Is it because it’s the most beautiful existence there is? Is it the most complex, or the most quintessential-

Annatar began laughing, and although it started as a joyous, amused chime, it escalated in volume and length to rudeness, to the point where Celebrimbor was frowning and his flushed cheeks were coloured crimson, his eyes flashing with anger, left without a doubt in his heart that he was being ruthlessly mocked.

“Please, Tyelperinquar.” Annatar enunciated leisurely once his laughter had subsided. “The most beautiful, the most complex… Do you honestly think that this-” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the room around them, to the whole world, it seemed, “is Eru’s grand design?!”

Celebrimbor’s lips thinned and he kept quiet, but his expression was growing angrier and more offended by the second.

“You are insulting your own intelligence.” Annatar concluded, his smile showing a teasing flash of teeth before he picked up his wine and took a sip, as if the conversation had ended.

“What’s the meaning of this, Annatar? Are we not the Children of Eru? Are we not the ones for whom this world was created?” Celebrimbor enunciated, carefully controlling his tones. 

“Tyelpe,” Annatar leaned on an elbow across the table, bringing them closer together and tilting his handsome head to the side. “Do you really believe in the creationist myths, which the Valar force-fed your people? Do you really think that the Elves awoke by a lake, and that there were… how many do you believe there were at first?”

“One hundred forty-four.” Celebrimbor grit his teeth. 

“And you believe that one hundred fourty-four elves just sprang into existence!?” Annatar laughed with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been listening to Master Abiodun’s lectures, haven’t you?” Celebrimbor chuckled dismissively in return. 

“I don’t even know whom you speak of.” Annatar sighed, picking up his drink and leaning back into his high-back chair. Celebrimbor mirrored him.

“He’s a lecturer of the Guild of Natural Sciences. Lately he’s been publishing research claiming that elves and humans have somehow descended from animals.” Celebrimbor took another swig of his wine.

“And you think that he’s gone senile.” Annatar laughed.

“Everyone thinks so.” The head of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain shrugged, thinking of the ageing human scientist.

“Tell me, Celebrimbor, with all these magnifying lenses and tools of precise measurement, which you have at your disposal, have you ever examined a sample of human or elven skin?” Annatar asked in full seriousness.

Celebrimbor cocked his head to one side and glared at his friend for a long moment.

“No. I usually look at the crystal matrices of elements. Skin is not my area of interest.” He responded drily.

“Precisely.” Annatar smirked.

“Have you?” Celebrimbor challenged.

“Of course.” Annatar grinned. “And I urge you to do it too. You will find that there are no apparent differences between the cells of humans and elves, which suggests that your races are not as far removed as you like to believe. You must have descended from a common ancestor.”

“Or it suggests that the difference is not in the physical realm, but in the fëa.” Tyelperinquar countered. “It confirms the belief that the elven fëa is bond to the world, whereas the human fëa-”

“No!” Annatar cut him off sharply. “It suggests that the difference is so small, that you need more advanced instruments, in order to determine it. I had such once and I looked deeper, into the very code of your construct, and I saw a difference of nothing but a few variables in a very long equation. And only but a few more differences from those of most other animals.”

Celebrimbor crossed his arms as well as his legs, leaning back further into the backrest of his chair.

“And when have you done this research?” He asked with an expression of unmasked dismay. “There are no humans in Aman, as far as I know. Or will you tell me otherwise?”

Annatar’s answering glare betrayed that he was not pleased with the direction the conversation had taken.

“I never confined myself to the Blessed Realm, Tyelperinquar.” He said, his lips thinning and his posture stiff. “I ventured into Middle Earth on more than a few occasions.”

“If all you are telling me is true, then pray tell, why are you here? Did you come to this realm only to speak blasphemy against the Valar to the monkeys of Middle Earth?” Celebrimbor’s expression and tone were hard and there was little geniality left in him. 

“The question you should be asking yourself is, why did the Valar lie to you.” Annatar responded, glancing at the elf through his eyelashes. The look usually placated him, but on this occasion it incited Tyelperinquar even further.

“And what is your answer to that!?” Celebrimbor nearly threw his goblet on the table. He straightened up, his stance becoming aggressive in his agitation. Annatar did not move from his seat.

“What do you think?” He inquired calmly.

“I want you to tell me!” Celebrimbor fumed.

“Fine.” Annatar smiled, and unfolded from his chair, walking around the table and extending a hand to the elf. Tyelpe glared at the offered hand, but took it and allowed the Maia to steady him as they walked the short distance to the balcony, swaying slightly from side to side.

Clinging together they reached the terrace where the night breeze was crisp and its chill helped cool down the heat in Celebrimbor’s heart and face.

The two Masters leaned on the railing and breathed the fresh air for a bit, before Annatar finally continued their earlier conversation.

“Even elves know that this world is not the only one Eru created.” He said. “There are countless others with creatures small and big, playing an equally unimportant part in the Creator’s design.”

Celebrimbor’s brow furrowed, but no longer did he feel the inclination to fight. Instead, he was content to stand close to his colleague, feel the easy amiability spread between them again, and discuss their opposing views like friends. 

“Those you call Valar, and the rest, creatures such as me, were not born on this world, and although we helped shape it, we did not create it.” Annatar continued. “We do not need the same conditions that incarnates do, however I am fairly certain that we did not spring into being spontaneously, since my kind too can reproduce.” 

Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow and turned his head slightly to watch his friend’s face. Annatar seemed deep in thought and his usually bright eyes were dimmed by his contemplation.

“The Maiar you call us, but we are not all the same. Collectively, we have no memory of the worlds we come from, nor of our progenitors, or history or cultures. The Valar took it from us, of that I am certain. They used and exploited us. Still many of my order labour by the Valar's will, without questioning. Much like your ancestors agreed to do when they followed the Lords of the West to Valinor.”

Celebrimbor held his breath, his eyes growing wide.

“You are speaking absolute blasphemy!” He whispered. “This is the worst talk against the Valar I have ever heard! We will surely be stricken down right away, or cursed! I don’t know which is worse-”

“You think Manwe can somehow hear us?” Annatar huffed an unhappy laugh. “He can’t. I guarantee it. Either that, or he cares so little of the creatures here.”

“And what do you mean my ancestors agreed to this?” Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that Finwe lied? Careful what you speak, for he is my great-grandfather.”

“Yes, he lied.” Annatar leered at the elf. “Really, Tyelpe, a hundred forty-four elves - how does this fail to compute for you!?”

“Why would he lie?” Celebrimbor shook his head. “He wouldn't lie to his family!”

“Didn't they make him a King?” Annatar stated matter-of-factly, picking on his pristine nails needlessly.

“Take that back!” Celebrimbor gripped his arm tightly enough to hurt another elf. Annatar merely blinked slowly at him with a look of mild disdain.

“Or what?” The Maia asked calmly. “Your fairy-tale world would shatter?” He raised his own hand, but instead of attempting to push Celebrimbor’s grip aside, he run his fingers in mock tenderness over the elf’s hair. “My poor little Elven Lord.”

Celebrimbor recoiled as if stung, looking at Annatar with aversion.

“You cannot mean this.” He growled, barely above a breath. “I don’t believe this. If what you’re saying is true, why let the elves be Kings at all. If the Valar meant to enslave us, they wouldn’t have given us power to govern ourselves.”

“Do you even believe that yourself?” Annatar huffed dismissively. “I never took you for the kind to wallow in denial, just because the truth does not serve your purposes. Ask yourself - why did some of the elves refuse the call, if circumstances were as utopian as the Valar want you to believe?”

“You are saying they appointed my great-grandfather, and two more like him, to control the rest of our people, to spread false beliefs of our creation and convince the rest to stay in Valinor. How can you expect me to take this as the truth when it lacks evidence or even substance?” Celebrimbor hissed cynically. “The Valar have nothing to gain from us - they don’t need us. Why would they carry my ancestors to Valinor if not to protect us, as we are the Children of Eru?”

“How about, in order to create an army of faithful servants, who would fight on their side, if the other incarnates of the world decided to rightfully overthrow them?” Annatar asserted.

Celebrimbor’s mouth hung opened in shock.

“A lesser species, with the capacity to multiply - a property that the Valar have somehow lost or never had - could claim dominion over this world, if left to its own devices.” Annatar continued when Celebrimbor remained speechless. “All the lies you’ve been fed about sex, marriage, deities and creation is merely that - a safeguard against you growing in numbers and rising to a rebellion. The fact that the armies of Valinor, composed mainly of the Eldar, brought down the mightiest of the Valar is the only proof you really need at this point.”

“You mean Morgoth.” Celebrimbor gasped as slow realisation seeped into him.

“He is - was - the mightiest of them. There is no denying that he was stronger than Manwe, and better than him, because he did not pretend to be what he was not.” Annatar stressed.

Celebrimbor bit his lips, feeling cold all over, perspiration forming under his clothes, his heart-rate increasing.

“You sided with him, didn’t you?” He guessed, and to his credit his voice did not shake. A cold resolve had turned his body to stone and he remained still and unflinching, searching the Maia’s eyes for the truth.

Annatar’s answering stare was unblinking and direct, his golden eyes darkened to a shade of burnt bronze.

“He did not try to enslave me. I gave him my submission willingly, unlike Aule, who claimed and used me like a beast, who limited me and pushed me into his own made-up boundaries!” 

Celebrimbor interrupted his fast speech with a rising voice of his own:

“Where were you during the War, Annatar? Give me a straight answer!” 

Suddenly the Noldo found himself silenced, his breath stopping in his chest. The Maia had stepped into his space, blocking the escape with his body and his arms on either side of him, caging the elf against the balcony's edge. 

“You know the answer to that.” The glare Annatar was giving him was nothing short of murderous, and in his head Tyelpe was panicking, uncertain if he was going to be allowed to survive that conversation at all. A drunken fall from the balcony could easily look like an accident, however for some reason, Annatar had not thrown him off yet. 

“What are you going to do?” Celebrimbor gasped between short breaths, his metallic grey eyes wide, gazing into Annatar’s dark gold ones from mere inches away.

“That depends on you, Tyelpe.” Annatar said softly. “Are you going to continue acting dull, or are you going to open your eyes and see?”

“My eyes are opened, but I don’t like what I see.” Celebrimbor breathed in return. 

Annatar chuckled, biting his lip and lowering his gaze.

“The truth is not always beautiful." He lifted his face and gave Celebrimbor a sparkling glance. "And your people put so much stock into beauty. But you are a bit different, are you not?" 

The elf grit his teeth and closed his eyes. 


	2. Meet Your Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual with an extra helping of violence against Tyelpe's poor person.

“Nothing has changed, Tyelpe.” Annatar’s spoke in his pointy ear as he lead him back into the room. “The world is still the same. There is no need for any of this.”

The Elven Lord took difficult, dizzy steps into the dark chambers beyond the starlit balcony where they had spoken. Annatar’s hands were on his ribs, supporting him as the world seemed to tilt and crumble underneath Celebrimbor's feet. Either that, or the gesture was meant to stop the elf from attempting to run, an idea that was currently crowding the space behind Tyelpe's blank stare.

Once they came to a stop in the middle of the hall, all seemed to stand terribly still. Celebrimbor took a shaky breath. It punctured the eerie silence.

“What's wrong?” Annatar cooed, sliding around the elf, hands tracing his sides until the Maia faced him. “I cannot understand what you need, unless you tell me.”

Tyelperinquar met the creature’s searching gaze. Those golden eyes were muted by the dusk. All candles had burned out in their absence and now the dining chamber was dark, deep shadows lurking in the static of it's empty corners and hollow vaults.

Celebrimbor bit his lip, his body was shaking. Annatar studied him for a long moment before he leaned closer to the elf, who jerked back as if slapped.

“No!” He trashed in the Maia’s hold on him, but got no further - it was as if he had become trapped in the hands of a statute - there was no give in Annatar’s fingers as they dug into his sides, no flexibility, not even a trace of humanity.

“I can see you acting depressed, Tyelpe. That won’t do.” Irritation was building in the otherworldly being's voice. “Aren't you asking for physical reassurance with these poignant displays?”

“No, never!” Celebrimbor’s words were lowered, but his voice was hoarse with emotion and tears were welling in his eyes as his earlier confusion, hurt and betrayal become full-blown hysteria. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

Annatar grappled with Tyelperinquar for a few seconds, but even his superior might was insufficient to restrain the elf. Celebrimbor threw his entire will into twisting and fighting the Maia's hold, disregarding his own well-being and hurting himself in the attempt to get away.

Annatar cursed under his breath and kicked Celebrimbor’s feet from beneath him, sending the Elven Lord crashing to his knees on the floor. Celebrimbor let out a despairing sob as his arms were tugged behind his back and clasped together tightly.

“Now, now, it’s alright. Everything is alright.” Annatar knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around the weeping elf.

He didn't release Celebrimbor's restrained wrists, clutching them in one of his hands.

“We are going to talk about this in the morning, after you've rested and sobered up.” The Maia reassured him and Celebrimbor wailed even louder in misery.

“But for now, this won't do-” Annatar sighed, undoing the sash from Tyelpe's waist, an action which was lost on the elf until the silk rope appeared in his line of sight, forcing it's way between his lips.

“No-mgh!” Celebrimbor yelped, but soon the only sounds he could manage were muffled sighs.

“I’m sorry, Tyelpe.” Annatar apologised, pulling him up and walking him through the unlit halls to the bedchamber. “I don’t enjoy doing this to you, but I don’t think you’re in any state to be left alone tonight. I'm afraid you might do something foolish.”

Celebrimbor quieted down, cold shivers of dread making him twitch in Annatar’s hold on his arms. Once they reached the large bed, Annatar pushed him face-first into the sheets. Celebrimbor barely had the mind to resist, frozen in shock as the creature wearing an elven-form knelt on either side of him and proceeded to restrain his forearms behind his back with a belt.

Tyelpe turned his face to the side, only to breathe, keeping his eyes closed to the nightmare that was playing out just behind his eyelids. In the silence all he could hear were his own ragged breaths and the sounds of leather being pulled tight.

He was drifting, the alcohol in his blood and the whirlpool of his emotions rendering him too exhausted to grasp for awareness any longer. He was almost blissfully unconscious when Annatar rolled him over and dragged his unresponsive body up the bed, laying his dark head on the pillow. In the final moments before sleep took him, Celebrimbor blinked up at the canopy. The indistinct shapes of the room were spinning around, but there was no mistaking the movements of a shadow settling down by his side.

…

Celebrimbor awoke just after dawn, the grey light from outside barely enough to chase the gloom in his bedchamber. There was no gag in his mouth, but the sharp pain in his arms meant that he hadn't dreamed the entire thing up. The realisation that he was still restrained and the memories of the previous night were indeed shocking, but even more bone-chilling was the movement he sensed on the bed just behind him.

Tilting his head back as much as he could without aggravating the already sore muscles of his chest and neck, Tyelperinquar caught sight of Annatar’s blonde hair and his pale complexion as the Maia rose to his elbows and crawled over the sheets towards him.

Celebrimbor turned his head back around, making a conscious effort to control his breathing and pretend to be calm.

“Are you awake, my friend?” The creature tapped his shoulder and when he didn’t receive any attention, he rolled the Elven Lord over to lie on his bond arms, eliciting a grimace of pain.

Annatar smiled down at him gently.

“I'm glad you are such an early riser - I was getting bored waiting for you.”

“Untie me!” Celebrimbor sneered, earning a disappointed frown from the Maia.

“Are you feeling better? I don’t want to untie you, only to have to fight you again.” Annatar inquered evenly.

“My arms are completely numb and I’m in pain.” Celebrimbor growled. “Is that reason enough for you?”

“I’m sorry, Tyelpe. I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort, but you left me no choice.” Annatar granted and begun undoing the belt, which held his arms. “You see, I removed the gag after you calmed down and fell asleep. I only kept you like this for your own good.”

Celebrimbor sat up in the bed, keeping his back to the man he had considered a friend, slowly rolling his shoulders and bringing feeling into them. Once released, his arms hurt even worse.

“Why don’t you order some breakfast for us and I will tell you what we are going to do after you’ve eaten?” Annatar offered.

Tyelpe glared at him over his shoulder. What choice did he have?

…

When the maid knocked, Celebrimbor opened the door and took the platter from her. The nis couldn’t hide the curious looks she directed to the room behind him, no doubt searching for the early-morning guest, who required breakfast alongside her Lord. Tyelperinquar captured her eyes, trying hard to convey his cry for help through osanwe, a gift he had never possessed, but somehow hoped might work on such a desperate occasion.

Evidently, it did not. The elleth seemed to think her Lord’s intense gaze a reprimand and hurried to excuse herself, leaving Celebrimbor and Annatar alone in the elf’s private suit.

If Annatar had noticed anything, he was hiding it very well, tucking in on the breakfast and tea with gusto. Meanwhile, Tyelpe glowered at his own plate with distaste.

“Eat, Tyelpe.” Annatar beckoned after a few minutes. “We are going on a little trip today. You will need your energy.”

“Where are you taking me?” Celebrimbor asked bleakly.

“We will go hunting. I think you deserve a break after all the stress you’ve been under lately.” Annatar said, dipping a biscuit into his tea.

Celebrimbor made no move to touch his breakfast, bile rising in his throat just by looking at the creature before him. Annatar's manner was warm and casual and it was almost impossible to reconcile with the person, who had threatened his life and tied him up like an animal the night before. However, Tyelpe remembered each moment with nightmarish clarity the sinister light that shone through those golden eyes, the way Annatar's fair features had distorted into something merciless.

“Seriously, Tyelpe, you’re going to burn a hole straight through me if you keep this up.” Annatar frowned, without meeting his eyes, attention turned solely on the food before them. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. I’m not taking you to the woods to commit murder, don’t worry.”

“That’s the least of my worries.” Celebrimbor hissed.

“What is it then?” Annatar sighed, looking up at him. “And start eating, or I will make you.”

“Will you really?” Tyelperinquar uttered softly, hardly believing that his life had suddenly spiralled into this.

“Do you want me to?” Annatar winked and laughed as if Celebrimbor had spoken some kind of a joke.

Fixing him a resentful stare, Celebrimbor reached for his breakfast. Contrary to the Maia, he did not find the idea of being forced into anything particularly funny, and he was certain that Annatar would make good on his threat.

…

Just before noon they rode out of Ost-in-Edhil and despite wearing no chains Celebrimbor felt like a hostage. He entertained the idea of attempting an escape, but Annatar had taken all their weapons on his horse, something that no doubt had looked strange, but none of the stable boys had dared to ask a question or even look twice.

The Elven Lord supposed that it was to be expected. After all, he was the one to have given Annatar free access into the city and to have convinced its entire population that the Maia was their friend. No one was any wiser.

And so, Tyelpe knew that attempting to escape was a lost cause. Even if Annatar did not aspire to shoot him with one of their arrows, all the Maia had to do was shoot Celebrimbor's horse to render the elf's escape hopeless. There was nothing Tyelperinquar could do but ride alongside Annatar to wherever the Maia wished to take him.

When they arrived at the hunting lodge, Annatar deposited their weapons inside and took Celebrimbor by the arm, leading the elf towards the woods. Tyelpe could hardly suppress the look of longing he directed to the chalet where his sword was locked away, but once again the Maia chose not to notice the rebellion in his eyes.

“Let’s take a walk, there is no point to venture hunting a few hours before sundown and it’s hardly dinner time yet.” He offered amiably, his hand giving Celebrimbor’s back a final pat before releasing him.

Tyelperinquar followed him in grim silence.

...

They walked through the freshly smelling pine woods, slowly putting distance between the lodge and themselves, following an old hunter’s trail.

“You must have so many questions!” Annatar spoke lightly. “Feel free to ask me anything, I will do my best to answer them fully.”

Celebrimbor slowed down to a stop and Annatar did the same, turning slightly to face him with an impenetrable smile on his angelic features.

“From all the balrogs, vampires, werewolves, evil spirits, and all the other nameless evil of Morgoth,” Celebrimbor begun and his voice quickly lowered to a growl as with each word it was getting harder to hide his hatred, “which one are you, exactly?”

Annatar’s smile froze to a grimace that showed way too many teeth.

“Well, I certainly did not expect you to start with that question.” He chuckled. “Then again, you don’t exceed in wisdom, do you?”

Tyelpe shot him an unamused glare.

“Alright then.” Annatar sighed. “Neither.”

Celebrimbor shook his head, beginning to laugh cynically:

“Oh, don’t give me that-”

“I was his lieutenant.” The being cut him off, the simple statement making Celebrimbor’s heart stagger. “Your people have called me all sorts of distasteful names, but my name was Mairon, and I was Melkor’s second in command. I believe you know of me.”

The elf’s jaw worked and he failed to form words for a couple of seconds until he spat:

“Gorthaur the Cruel! You are Sauron!”

“I dislike those names.” Annatar's grin was sharkish. “I would advice you not to use them.”

“Oh Eru!” Celebrimbor’s eyes turned to the sky. He felt sick enough to faint. This was the friend he had trusted, the one he had admired, loved even...

Annatar narrowed his eyes.

“If you are done over-dramatising-”

“What do you want from me? Why are you keeping me alive?” Tyelperinquar asked, feeling his body shake. He was dangerously close to another breakdown, and by the look Annatar was giving him, it showed.

“Calm down.” The creature was saying, but it did nothing to ease him - it had the opposite effect.

Celebrimbor curled in on himself, gripping his own shoulders against the uncontrollable shaking, and Annatar made the mistake of attempting to enfold him in his arms once again. This time Tyelpe didn’t hesitate.

He screamed, punching Annatar’s unguarded face and ran his knee into the Maia’s middle, knocking the air out of him. Annatar’s body was hard and it hurt to hit him, but it was worth it because it bought the elf a few precious seconds of surprise, which Celebrimbor used to bolt for the woods.

He had no idea in which direction he was running. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to go running off so late in the afternoon, so close to nightfall and the darkness, which would make the area unsafe even for an elf. He was unarmed, dressed lightly for riding, he had no food or provisions on him. He was likely running to his death, but death in the wilderness was far preferable than taking part in whatever nefarious design Sauron had in store for him.

The Elven Lord ran like one possessed for as long as his heart allowed him, not wasting even a split second to look back and check if he was being pursued. He ran for what felt like an eternity, until he stumbled and collapsed on a clearing under the setting sun. He rolled a few times, coming to a crashing stop, his limbs weak and shaking from the exertion, his breath coming hard and laboured, and his heart beating fast enough to burst.

He had neither seen nor heard a pursuer, but almost as soon as Celebrimbor pushed himself up to his shaky elbows, a pale leather boot came down on the ground just before him.

Tyelperinquar’s head snapped up and there he was - Annatar - standing over him with a bored expression on his face and no sign of having run through the woods like a wild creature.

“Are you done?” The Maia asked.

Tyelpe shook even harder, his eyes growing wide in despair.

“No, no, no-” His protest escalated in volume as Annatar pulled him up to stand. Celebrimbor attempted to fight his hands off, but the Maia’s grip on his shoulders remained, no matter how the tired elf twisted and shouted.

“Do you really prefer being the Valar’s lapdog to knowing the truth!?” Annatar screamed in his face, his voice loud enough to make the elf's ears ring. “Would you have preferred to remain blind to their betrayal? I never took you for a weakling!”

“Their betrayal?” Celebrimbor breathed, tears of fear and frustration running down his cheeks. “What about your betrayal?”

“What are you talking about, Tyelpe?” Annatar's blonde brows furrowed. His patience was running thin and there was barely suppressed violence in his eyes. “I never betrayed you. Everything I promised, I delivered!”

“You lied!” Celebrimbor screamed back, right in Annatar’s face. The Maia blinked slowly at him but the elf continued recklessly: “Do not pretend that you didn’t deceive me on purpose, to gain access to my people and my city. Why, aren't you the same as the powers you warn me against? Don't tell me you aren't here to take over! Are you planning to build your own army against Middle Earth and Aman?”

“Do not compare me to the Valar." Annatar said slowly. "I'm nothing like the unconcerned Lords of the West, who seek to bend and twist this world according to their own needs. And when the task proved too difficult for their undertaking, they decided to forsake Middle Earth. How have they solved this realm's problem in the past? By levelling and then sinking the place. Is that who you would prefer as your ruler?”

“I don't need a ruler! And if I had to accept one, I don't want to choose between the Valar and Sauron!” Tyelperinquar spat bitterly.

“Me. Me, Tyelpe. Don't speak as if you don't know me.” Annatar pulled him closer until his brow rested against the elf’s. Celebrimbor closed his eyes to escape the magnitude of the Maia’s burning gaze. “You are choosing between those who have cursed and forsaken you, and me, Annatar, the one who has never let you down. When have I ever let you down?”

“You tied me up-” The elf uttered between closed teeth.

“Once! I did it once, because you made me-” Annatar insisted.

“You killed Finrod! Your past actions are irredeemable!” Celebrimbor opposed.

“According to who? The Valar?" Annatar countered. "Yes, I have killed and so have you. We both did it for what we believed was the greater good. I did it for freedom. Do you begrudge me the wish to be free from chains!?”

Tyelpe’s eyelashes fluttered and he looked into Annatar’s eyes. They were truly hypnotic, and perfect even from up close. They lacked the tendrils and veins, which could be seen in elven and human eyes, instead they looked like plasma, molten and forever pulsating with the energy of the being within.

"Our interests no longer have to differ." The Maia continued. "The Valar took advantage of the strife over those jewels, used it to throw us against each other, when it was their dictatorship we should have fought all along."

“You tortured my uncle.” Celebrimbor hissed.

“I didn’t enjoy doing that. He was stubborn. Like you.” Annatar said with a sad smile. “But unlike you, he was in on the whole thing, and had chosen the opposing side. You on the other hand were too young to understand Fëanor’s speech to the Noldor.”

Tyelpe closed his eyes and nodded his head. He didn’t want to hear any more, but knew he wouldn’t be allowed that mercy.

“Your grandfather knew what the Valar were and he urged your people to leave their chains and find new Kingdoms in Middle Earth. What do you think Morgoth told him in the forges, where the two spoke for long hours, that seeded the rift between him and the rest of the princes of the Noldor?”

Celebrimbor’s eyes snapped open.

“Finwe was a die-hard supporter of the Valar, and Fëanor's love for his father was only eclipsed by his love for the jewels, so as long as Finwe lived, and the Valar kept away from the silmarils, the Spirit of Fire remained meek like a well trained dog. But once Finwe died and the silmarils were taken, the first thing Fëanor did was raise a rebellion against the Valar's control, using the exact words Melkor had whispered to him before their greed tore them apart.”

Celebrimbor felt his heart sink. He could no longer breathe. It ringed so close to the truth, it filled gaps in the story, which Curufin had told him; which he had heard Maglor sing in his epic retellings of the Darkening. Worse still, it sounded so terribly familiar.

“Yes.” Annatar smiled softly. “You grandfather was fast friends with Melkor and learned a lot from him, just like you learned from me.”

“This cannot be.” Tyelperinquar hung his head, tears trickling down his face freely.

“The truth about the Valar bridged the drift between Fëanaro and his estranged people, enough to raise most of the Noldor to rebellion. The Valar would have massacred your entire nation if the rest of the Elves in Valinor had ever learned to make weapons, but since that was not the case, all they could do was to banish and curse you, in hopes that your wrath against Melkor would take your armies away from their doorstep.”

“They did not curse us for the kinslaying at Aqualonde, but for rebelling against their will.” Celebrimbor heard himself utter as if in a dream. He was leaning fully into Annatar’s ready embrace, letting Sauron hold him up as his knees threatened to give way under the weight of the terrible realisations, which dawned upon him. “Oh Eru. Fëanaro, Curufinwe... Galadriel... Why did they lie to me?!”

“I believe your father was merely telling you the stories one tells children. He never got the chance to speak to you about the truth.” Annatar was giving him such a tender look. Tyelpe felt like he could drown in it’s bottomless depth. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had looked at him that way. Then again, what he heard sounded suspiciously like what he needed to hear, what he so desperately wanted to hear.

Celebrimbor’s hands tightened around the Maia’s arms and he buried his face into Annatar’s shoulder, letting himself cry. Strong arms crossed behind his back and he was held so securely to his friend’s chest.

“Do you see now what I’m trying to do, Tyelpe?” Annatar whispered in the Noldo’s dark hair. "With you at my side, I can bring prosperity to all in Middle Earth, set every wrong to right. Not even a drop of blood has to be spilled, if you listen to me. We can make it happen, you and I. And it will be for the good of all, I promise.”

“What do you need from me?” Celebrimbor gasped against his neck.


	3. Countdown to the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rings get made and Tyelpe's mind gets unmade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence and abuse.  
> I'm getting progressively sorrier about this fic, but oh well... I hope some of you will enjoy it anyway.  
> 

After Annatar convinced him that making the rings of power was the only bloodless way to unite Middle Earth under the Lord of Gift’s righteous banner, _and after_ Tyelpe had given up on trying to find ways to turn the argument on his unearthly friend or find loopholes in the Maia's testimony… No, not friend. Mentor. Colleague. Celebrimbor refused to call Sauron his master.

Several decades after all of that, Annatar came to him and asked that he made three more rings.

“You said there will be no Elven rings.” Tyelpe croaked through quickly drying mouth. He had known that to trust Sauron was folly, yet he had already surrendered to him the keys to every keyhole in his life.

“These rings will be different, Tyelpe.” Annatar reassured him, hand running up and down the elf’s exposed arm. It was hot in the forges and Celebrimbor favoured sleeveless tunics for work, however the slide of the Maia’s palm against his bare skin made him regret his choice.

“I want you to make them alone.” Annatar continued. “I want you to put all your skill and understanding into them, for they will be your greatest creation. And they will be beautiful, Tyelpe.”

...

It was an unusual request. The rest of the rings had been made as a mutual effort by all the jewelsmiths of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, even though Celebrimbor had taken the leading role and Annatar had overseen the entire process.

But just as Annatar asked of him, Celebrimbor designed and forged three rings on his own. And once they were complete and in his hand the elf held three perfect pieces, buzzing with energy and life of their own, their beauty was truly incomparable to anything the smith had made before, and Tyelpe couldn't tear his eyes away.

At once he felt that he didn’t wish to ever show them to Sauron. They were uniquely his, made of his own will and permeated with his own intent. Rebellion and spite rose in the Elven lord’s heart and in his mind he weaved intricate plans of how to prevent the Maia from seeing his rings, lies and excuses quickly formed on his lips whenever Annatar wished to hear of his progress and for a while Celebrimbor managed to withhold his greatest treasures from his captor.

With the three Tyelpe thought he could dare an escape. The path to freedom seemed awfully close with the power, which gathered and grew around him with each passing moment that he wielded them upon his fingers. With the strength of spirit they gave him, with the endurance of his hroa and the clarity of his mind, Tyelperinquar thought that he might even be able to take on Sauron, if he ever had to confront him one on one.

However, Annatar knew him too well and surprised him one day with a saccharine smile on his face and a heavy metal chain, swinging from his hand.

They struggled in Tyelpe’s private workshop and there was clobbering and humiliation and blood. In his arrogance, Tyelperinquar hadn’t bothered to find a better hiding spot for the Three and they were sitting in a drawer of his desk, so once he was securely chained to his own chair, with the bloodied metal with which he had been beaten for his defiance, Annatar made quick work of overturning his possessions one by one, until quickly he discovered Nenya, Vilya and Narya.

“Don’t touch them!” Celebrimbor snarled wetly, struggling against the clanking chain. “They are not for you! They were meant to be beautiful, they were meant to be pure!”

“They are.” Annatar breathed, beholding the three in his opened palm. "They really are."

…

What happened after was a nightmarish blur of centuries of half-conscious events, which Tyelperinquar later remembered and wished that he could somehow erase. But all of that was after.

Before it, for months they travelled to a land far to the east, escorted by Men with whom Annatar conversed in a foreign language. During the first week, Celebrimbor was dragged along like an animal, his arms and legs bound with ropes up to the elbows and knees. His mouth was gagged and he bobbled up and down, thrown over the saddle in front of a bulky human, whose body smelled of steady decay and whose hands were either warm or cold, depending on the air around them, but always rough as they fisted in his robes.

Annatar took him into his tent every night and invariably asked: “Are you going to behave now?” before gagging the raging elf once again.

One night into the second week Celebrimbor answered that question with “Yes.” From that point on he got to stay unbound and ride his own horse during the days. Sharing Annatar’s tent for the nights did not change, nor did the fact that the Maia liked him sleeping on the floor with his wrists chained around the tent-pole.

“Where are we going?” Tyelpe asked one evening while they dined on fare too rich for travelling.

“Mordor.” Annatar answered simply, cutting a small piece of venison and neatly placing it into his mouth to chew. He sloshed it down with a sip of red wine.

“And what is there?” The Elven Lord asked, stabbing at his own dinner with markedly less grace. In truth, Celebrimbor was tearing at the meat like a savage - there were so few remaining outlets for his frustration that butchering a stake, even one so fine, seemed like a small crime.

“My forge.” The Maia said, smirking at Celebrimbor’s bewildered expression. “Our work is not yet done, my friend.”

“So we are making more rings?” Tyelpe asked flatly, not bothering to correct the Maia. They both knew that they were not friends.

“Just one.”

…

The last thing that Celebrimbor clearly remembered was being dragged into Mount Doom, straight into the very heart of the volcano, where the earth was unbearably hot and the air was heavy and poisonous. Underground explosions shook the bedrock beneath them and suffocating clouds of surfur hissed from every crack, therefore the mortals, who usually handled him were replaced by orcs, more resilient creatures than the second-born.

The brutes forced him to his knees, and pushed his head down, but Tyelpe could hear over the roar of the elements the distinct sound of metal being beaten into submission. He felt more than saw Annatar slipping the new ring on his finger, and then suddenly the world seemed to shake and shudder with the power, which it unleashed.

Sauron's very being pushed on the living around him and the insurmountable pressure increased as the Maia moved closer. His servants and the elf in their grasp flinched helplessly before his approach.

Annatar’s thought was so powerful that when his attention turned to Celebrimbor, the elf felt like he was drowning, sinking like a stone into dark water, swallowing lung-fulls of heavy liquid until it was all around him and deep within him. 

Suddenly released, Celebrimbor’s eyes instantly snapped up. Annatar was before his kneeling form, bright, golden and glorious. He did not look evil and there wasn't a single unlovely aspect of him. His face was young and handsome, his voice cohesive when he spoke:

“Put on the rings, Tyelpe!” And Annatar extended his hand, bright and pale against the dust and swirling smoke. His skin glowed like a star and on his opened palm sparkled the three Elven rings, which Celebrimbor had made.

Celebrimbor had made…

Suddenly startled from the dreamlike state Tyelpe remembered. Dread seized his heart and his throat clenched, yet the command in Annatar’s eyes was unequivocal as were the words forming in Celebrimbor’s mind: “Put on the rings, Tyelpe! Take the rings! Put them on!”

There was little use denying his need to take back his creations and to reclaim ownership over them. Instincts screaming against it, Celebrimbor still could not resist. His fingers smoothly reached into Annatar’s palm, guided as if by a will of their own and took the rings from it. Once that was done, the three were back on his fingers in less than a heartbeat. It was simply natural.

The Maia smiled.

With the rings on, Celebrimbor was at once utterly exposed to Annatar’s power. Suddenly he could see all the rings they had made - exposed before him, far apart, spread across Middle Earth, yet so incredibly close that all he had to do was reach to them to feel the minds of their bearers respond.

But the others seemed barely aware of the elf’s presence, and of Sauron’s even less.

Annatar lifted his hand with the incandescent band upon it, pinning Celebrimbor’s attention singularly on its energy unfolding and twisting like the facets of a kaleidoscope. From this close, the Maia's incantation hit he elf with the force of an avalanche:

“Ash nazg durbatulûk” Sauron begun and at once a thousand hidden traps sprang in Celebrimbor’s mind, snapping at his unsuspecting psyche and making him howl in anguish. _One ring to rule them all_ and his entire perception fractured into jagged pieces, which no longer fit together.

“Ash nazg gimbatul.” The voice continued and Celebrimbor tried to stop the foreign thought of seeping in through the cracks.

“Ash nazg thrakatulûk” Annatar said and the lights behind the elf’s eyelids grew incredibly bright. He might have been screaming, but he could no longer tell. In the last moments, the pain turned into something paralysingly soft and comfortingly warm. It almost felt good. “Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

The connection snapped but the otherness inside him remained and continued to do it’s work. Celebrimbor was bent backwards nearly to the point of his spine snapping in two. Sauron's will coursed through him until it buried into the three rings, which shined upon the elf's fingers.

Then it was all over and Annatar was standing above him, lips stretched back in a smile. The Maia's voice was soft as he coed:

“Isn’t this much better? Submission can be such a blissful thing. Isn’t this much easier? No more responsibility, just the distinct sense of purpose and direction. Don't you just love having a reason to exist?” Annatar watched him keenly, those red eyes burning like the groaning masses of molten rock far beneath. “I almost envy you.”

Celebrimbor stood up. It was easier now, as if a heavy burden had been lifted, and all his wounds had been repaired. It was as if the curtain of despair, fear and doubt, which had hung over him for the better part of a his life had been lifted and finally, _finally_ he could see beyond the small and pitiful thoughts that had crowded his perception for so long. Now Celebrimbor could perceive the bigger picture. And he was ready to put his mind and hands to serve the greater good.

He looked to his Master and awaited his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter to go! Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> (of course I took the title from another NIN song, this one is from Meet Your Master, which i prefer in the yearzeroremixed version)


	4. Don't Want The Dreams You Try to Sell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a pain to write! I hope you like it though. And I apologise in advance, because this is NOT a good ending for Celebrimbor or Sauron, or anyone really.
> 
> Warnings and triggers: mild gore, disturbing themes, mentions of off-screen suicide, imprisonment, major character death

The next time Tyelpe truly remembered who he was, he was in the middle of a blackened battle field, surrounded by the war, which had ravaged the better part of Middle Earth for the past five hundred years.

The green expanse, which had once covered Eriador was no more. All that remained were blackened stones and muddy corrosion left after forests had burned and thousands of steelclad boots had trampled the earth, creating ridges into which filthy grey rainwater pooled.

Amongst this destruction the last descendant of Feanor kneeled and keened, holding the stump of his right arm, now cut above the elbow. Through the pain and the panic of being separated from his ring, Celebrimbor’s mind was returning, if only just a little.

The urge to return to his Master was stronger than the flashes of memory of a previous self, so he scrambled forth through the mire, bones and blood, which soaked the battlefield, reaching for the severed arm. He groveled forward until Eönwë’s boot stepped on his outstretched left hand, pinning it to the ground, where it slowly sunk in the muck.

Celebrimbor howled.

Valinorian elves and Numenorian men gathered around the scene of his defeat, weapons raised in alarm, but shouts of triumph were leaving their mouths already, as they sensed their victory, just as surely as Tyelperinquar’s own ranks now screamed in horror and fear of their loss.

Some of them were already betraying their Bright Lord, throwing down their weapons and surrendering to the mercy of the Valar, since Celebrimbor’s will could drive them no longer without the Fire ring on his finger.

Eönwë bent down and picked up the maimed arm. The bloody appendage that had once held Celebrimbor’s sword, was limp and lifeless, but Narya still shined upon it as if nothing had changed at all. Tyelperinquar had used to think the ring beautiful. Now he was not sure how that was so - it was blackened and the ruby on it glinted with the unholy light of freshly spilled blood. It was in fact terrifying.

“What… what have I done?” He uttered to himself.

The power of the ring was slowly leaching from his body and with its retreat came the pain, as the damage sustained through years of constant campaigns begun to show. Devoid of Sauron’s power, each of Tyelpe’s unnatural exertions finally took its toll. In seconds, the elf’s jet-black hair lost its beautiful lustre and dulled down to a brittle, streaked grey, muscles that had been abused and pushed way past their durability stretched and weakened, bones splintered with tiny cracks of each injury sustained, each battle wound untended, the constant marching, the indomitable fighting, all the times he had fallen to his knees in front of _him_ …

Tyelpe’s pained cries turned into sobbing as his heart took the final and most brutal blow. He recalled at once the crimes that he himself had committed and for a while all he could do was choke on the gridly memories, retch and cry as it all overwhelmed him. He could not reconcile the elf who had lead Sauron’s armies forth and committed countless atrocities with his old self. The two were merely incompatible...

The world had went quiet by the time he remembered how to breathe, the battle around him ceased, lost by his side, won by the Valar. In this great stillness Eönwë’s boot was still on his hand and Celebrimbor simply sobbed with his face buried in the mud.

“What of him? Shouldn’t we kill him?” Someone was asking - one of the countless Lords of Men, who came and went so quickly that Sauron’s general had never bothered to learn their names. It hadn’t meant a thing either way - the Silver First fell wherever his Master had deemed him to strike.

“No. The Valar must pass judgement on him and his Master.” Eönwë spoke and his voice was heavenly, sweet like the warm breeze of summer, so contrary to the howling storm in Celebrimbor's mind.

...

Tyelpe didn’t know how much time had passed. All he knew was that he was being dragged to his judgement, rocking on a Telerin ship through calm seas. A wayward wind took them swiftly to Aman, a land, which he had never hoped to see again. It was ironic that the Valar had decided to mingle in his affairs only after he had desecrated everything he had hoped to protect. In a way, Annatar’s words still rang true, in a mangled sort of way.

A small part of him registered the looks he received from the sailors and those who brought him food and water. The pity in their eyes was even worse than their terror and disgust. He did not know what he resembled, but if he looked even slightly like the broken creature that he was, then he imagined he looked horrifying.

He did not touch the food - his body no longer needed the sustenance. He had long ceased to be fully alive - so intertwined with the power of the One he had become. And it was a miracle that the separation with his ring had not killed him on the spot - the human ring-bearers had been destroyed when the rings were severed from them. Celebrimbor had seen Khamûl die, disintegrating to dust while trying to defend him from Eönwë’s final assault. Was it remorse for the loss of a friend or a vassal that he felt now? Were these even his own feelings or another thing Sauron had put into him without his knowledge or permission? Would Khamûl had even bothered if it wasn’t for their Master’s command heard through the connection of their rings: “ _Protect the Elf!"_

  
Galadriel had died last of the Elven ring-bearers. Her loss, Tyelpe supposed, he was allowed to mourn. Before her, Gil-Galad had died, and when he did, it had taken great effort to reclaim his ring, but Aglarân had reclaimed it and returned it to Tyelperinquar. After that it had been the Silver Fist’s job to invade Greenwood and force Oropher to wear it.

Oropher had died soon after in the battle of Belfalas, defeated by the Numenorians and the ring had not been reclaimed again. Galadriel had died not even a week before Tyelperinquar’s final, desperate stand against the Armies of the West. While she had been by Celebrimbor’s side, their enemies had feared them. But even she fell when the Valar sent their Maiar into battle, defeated by her old Mistress Melian.

_“This is for mercy!”_ The Maia had shouted as she ran Galadriel through the heart with a blade seconds after cutting off the wrist upon which Nenya had been. Celebrimbor hadn’t cried then, but he was crying wretchedly as the memory finally made sense. It was strange how he had felt nothing more than a severed connection when it had happened.

And where connections were concerned, the ring-maker couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his Three at the end of the war. He supposed the Valar had them all. And then briefly he wondered what had become of his Master but he promptly pushed that thought aside. He could not bare to think of _him_ as anything more than a nightmare.

…

In a cell designed by Mandos himself, one without doors or windows, without anything but opaque grey walls, Tyelperinquar was made to wait. Despite the lack of any visible openings, the air was constantly fresh and was neither cool not warm, simply right. It seemed like the Valar did not seek to torture him needlessly, but their mercy turned into just that, because without any other stimulation, all Celebrimbor could do was think about the past and recall the horrors of his actions.

Seven rings had been given to the dwarves, but against all expectation Durin’s Folk were indomitable even by Sauron’s will. The influence of the One had made their greed more powerful and inside conflict born out of avarice had caused a lot of blood to run in their Kingdoms, but not even the Mouth had managed to convince them to join Sauron on his campaign. And so, his Master had sent him to destroy them.

Celebrimbor blinked back tears. He had no right to cry over it. He didn’t think he deserved any solace for what he had done.

When Sauron gave them war, the dwarves hid inside the mines where they felt safe, closed themselves behind the door Celebrimbor had helped build and the ones that had been made in it’s likeness.

Of course, Sauron had known that these people had opened up to Tyelperinquar, shown him secrets, which they showed no other outsider, taught him their language and even given him a name as one of their own.

It had been a bloodbath, and the closest thing to hell that Celebrimbor could imagine. An entire race, gone, destroyed by his own hand, through the brilliance and cunning of his own mind. He had planned the assault meticulously with Celeborn by his side, and once they had went in, Tyelperinquar from the West and Galadriel’s husband from the East, they had trapped the Children of Durin in between.

The dwarves had put up a bitter fight, and the elves had sustained great losses, by means of traps, explosions, poisonous gases, fires and whole levels collapsing on them, but in the end, they had made certain that none escaped.  And when the dwarves had found themselves with no other options, they had resorted to mass suicides, prefering to take their own lives, rather than to be enslaved.

The sight of whole chambers filled with corpses, lying together in death and defiance plagued him. The torment of those memories made Tyelpe wish dearly for the Valar to pass judgement onto him as soon as possible, and hopefully sentence him to the Void where he could be unmade completely. 

...

When at last they took outside the poor shell of an elf, who had once been Celebrimbor son of Curufin, the creature was blind to the beauty of Valinor. The radiance of the sun hurt his colourless eyes, and made his weakened body ache, the noise confused him after being with his thoughts for so long. He allowed them to half-carry, half-drag him to the Circle of Doom where the Valar had gathered to judge him.

He could not bare to lift his head and meet their gazes, or those of the elves who had come to see his trial. Distantly, he still wondered what had become of Sauron. Was he still alive? Had they killed him?

Tyelpe told himself that it didn’t matter.

His deeds were recited for him and in the end he was asked if he had anything to say in his defence. He merely stated:

“I am guilty.”

“Then you should be sentenced to the Void because the Halls of Mandos can’t house a wraith.” Manwe spoke and Celebrimbor did not look up, hardly reacted at all. “Do you disagree with this sentence?”

“I don’t.” He said.

Cries and gasps were heard from the gathered crowd. He did not care for the pity he elicited in the gentle hearts of his once-people. All he wanted was a swift end.

Manwe announced the date and time of his execution and Celebrimbor was taken away, once again to brew in his thoughts.

…

Would he see him again, he wondered in the darkness of his final hours.

Celebrimbor knew that Sauron had manipulated and used him, corrupted him beyond the laws of nature, made him into a creature of darkness, irredeemable and twisted. But he also had no doubt that Sauron had loved him. It was a fact, something he had felt proven through the connection of the One and Narya time and time again. It had been a warm and gentle feeling - Sauron’s affection and favouritism. 

Tyelperinquar hadn’t enjoyed the things he had done for him. All the battles he had planned, all the war machines designed and exploited, the destruction of the once fertile and beautiful land, the levelling of mountains... Celebrimbor hadn’t felt anything at all, but the need to do it, because his Master wanted it done.

Fervently he tried to push away the memories of dropping to his knees in front of his Master, his God, his One. He remembered the time when the whole meaning of his life was concentrated in those moments that he was allowed to rest his forehead against a steel-clad knee and Sauron’s fingers would run through his hair so soothingly.

No words would have to pass between them, because he could feel the unquestionable warmth, and praise and love flowing through the inseparable connection of their rings.

He remembered pressing reverent kisses to Sauron’s elegant hands, over the skin, which was perfect and almost translucent in its brightness. The One ring had blazed against the darkness of the rest of the world. Celebrimbor remembered taking Sauron’s fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over their length and around the sleek gold band on his index finger, sucking and gagging, mindlessly, and in need to take in as much as he could.

His Master allowed him these indulgences and mercifully catered to the inherent flaws of his flesh. Tyelpe wished that he could forget the feel of Sauron’s fingers running over the taut muscles of his back. The feeling of Sauron's lips, kissing his forehead. The heat of the One against his mouth, the way it burned and branded the delicate skin, leaving blisters behind. How his Master had _loved_ to mark him...

Tyelpe cried and didn’t know what he cried for - the crimes he had committed, the ones committed against him, or -

…

The place they choose for the execution was unprecedentedly beautiful. He did not deserve to be sent into the Void by the holiest of the Valar in the midst of flowers and blue sky. If anything, he deserved to be choked to death with the filth and mud he had left in what had once been Greenwood. He deserved to be clubbed to death with the bones of the dwarves, who had resolved to mass suicide in order not to be taken away by him. They should have given him to the orcs, who had learned to fear him so much that they scared their children with his name.

He did not deserve such a peaceful end as to kneel bond by clean, steel chains in the middle of a mountainous clearing with song-birds darting the air.

There was a very large audience gathered and absently, Tyelpe wondered that so many had come to see him punished. He realised that they had not come for him, once another figure was brought forth by Tulkas. The struggling creature was blindfolded and bound by glowing chains of an unknown compositions, held down by four of the Maiar, but its pale skin and golden hair were unmistakable even in those conditions.

Tyelpe’s heart nearly stopped on its own. He recognised that fallen Maia, he would have recognised him in his sleep, even if he had lost all his senses. For he still felt the scars of the sundered connection between them, which came to life like raw wounds once Sauron was brought closer.

There was no mercy for him after all. He couldn’t bare to look at Sauron, yet it was even more painful to look away. His entire being was attuned to him like an instrument played by only one musician, like a tool worn into the shape of the hand, which used it. His spirit screamed, wishing for a reunion, while at the same time begging to be set free of the connection that tormented it.

The blindfold was taken off and Mairon’s powerful glare pierced through the crowds, eliciting gasps by the onlookers, until it finally landed on Tyelpe, who was huddled into a kneeling position, looking at him from a few yards away.

The elf winced when the fallen Maia’s burning eyes fixed on his. There was a myriad of emotions in Sauron’s gaze, most of which Celebrimbor couldn’t believe his Master was allowing him to glimpse: desperation, fear, pity and sorrow were but a few of them. And there was also defiance, obsession, desire and affection. The latter made something awful and warm coil in Celebrimbor’s gut and he choked, trying to expel the poison from his treacherous, ruined body.

“By the order of the Elder King and before the eyes of Eru…” Mandos begun but his judgement speech was drowned out in Tyelpe’s ears by his Lord Mairon’s voice, who was now shouting over the words of the Judge and over the agitated murmur of the crowd:

“I will find you,” Sauron was saying. “In the Void or during Dagor Dagorath. You and me will lead the Dark Lord’s armies and bring ruin to those who put us down!”

“No!” Celebrimbor screamed back, shaking his head, useless, fearful tears flying off his face with the force of his denial.

“Silence!” Tulkas roared, shaking the fallen Maia in his grasp.

“Don’t be afraid, Tyelpe! This is not the end - We will be together!” Mairon continued regardless.

“Oh Eru, no!” Celebrimbor sobbed.

Tulkas placed his massive hand over Sauron’s mouth to shut him up and Celebrimbor was left to retch in fear and confused yearning. He told himself that his Master would not find him, because there was only nothingness in the Void. Elven spirits could not survive there - there would be only quiet and the stillness of non-existence. He would be free.

“... and for that you are sentenced to the Void.” Mandos finished his rather short speech. “You may say your last words now. Who would like to speak first?”

The blindfolded Doomsman of the Valar waited. Celebrimbor remained silent and Tulkas released Mairon’s mouth.

“You have not seen the last of me! When I return, you will all burn, shiver and beg for mercy, but none will be given.” The fallen Maia spit out and then turned his eyes to Celebrimbor “As for you, Tyelpe, repent all you like - we both know you belong to me and that you will return to me as soon as you are free from those chains.”

Celebrimbor looked down, denying the words in his head over and over again.

“Do you have any last words, Tyelperinquar?” Mandos inquired and Celebrimbor was silent for a long moment, drowning in the fear and anger that choked him from the inside, and when he spoke he surprised even himself:

“I was never yours, Sauron.” He croaked in the ruined voice of his, his throat having suffered like the rest of him. “I’d rather by thrice unmade than join you again! You spoke of freedom, but slavery is all you know - even now you yearn to glower back to your place, below the boot of another. I would never follow you by my free will - whatever part of me you thought you had was merely a projection of your own desire for servitude. Beyond that, I prefer to be nothing at all than to stand next to you. Return to your Master now but don’t think you will ever meet me again!”

With this Celebrimbor looked up and met Mairon’s eyes. The fire Maia was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. He held his gaze even as Mandos concluded that those were their final words and beckoned to Tulkas to continue with the execution of their sentence.

The Champion of the Valar grew even larger than he already was, hanging over the kneeling figures with his legs as thick as trees. He raised his two great fists overhead, but Celebrimbor felt not even a sliver of fear, couldn’t care less for what was coming as Tulkas’ prepared to strike them out of Arda.

He held Mairon’s spiteful eyes, reveling in the anger and betrayal he saw there and just for a second though he could feel the elation of a triumph -

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Aglarân is a Adûnaic name, which I gave the Witch King, since we don’t know his real one. It means “Glorious-one” - I thought it suited him.
> 
> So did you hate this story? Wouldn't blame you, but I wanted to write a Dark!Celebrimbor fic for ages, so I'm not ashamed of it, even if it wasn't very pleasant to write, and maybe even read... Anyway, let me know your thoughts!


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